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1898 



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THE BEQUEST OF 

DANIEL MURRAY 

WASHINGTON. D. C. 

1<»25 






Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated, so 
that no man went through thee, I will make thee an 
eternal excellency, a joy of many generations. — 
Isaiah 60 : 15. 



1006 Bainbridge Street, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



POKMS 



BY 



FRANCES E. W. HARPEK 



PHILADELPHIA: 
1006 BAINBRIDGE STREET 



, I , , i V.-, 



Copyrighted, 1895, by 
FEANCES E. W. HARPER. 



QtORQC 8. FERQUSON OO.^ 
PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYPERS. 



'•'& bequest c; 
Daniel Murray, 
VVashington, 0. C. 
1925. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

My Mother's Kiss 

A Grain of Sand ^ 

4 
The Crocuses 

The Present Age 

Dedication Poem 

A Double Standard ^^ 

Our Hero 

The Dying Bondman ^* 

A Little Child Shall Lead Them 19 

The Sparrow's Fall 21 

God Bless Our Native Land 23 

Dandelions 

The Building 25 

Home, Sweet Home 26 

The Pure in Heart Shall See God 28 

He Had Not Where to Lay His Head . . • -30 

Go Work in My Vineyard -^l 

Renewal of Strength ^'^ 

Jamie's Puzzle 

Truth ^^ 

Death of the Old Sea King ^^ 

Save the Boys ^^ 

(V) 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Nothing and Something „ 42 

Vashti 44 

Thank God for Little Children 47 

The Martyr of Alabama . . . . . , .49 

The Night of Death 53 

Mother's Treasures 56 

The Refiner's Gold . 58 

A Story of the Rebellion 60 

Burial of Sarah 61 

Going East 63 

The Hermit's Sacrifice 66 

Songs for the People 69 

Let the Light Enter 71 

An Appeal to My Country Women 72 



My Mother's Kiss. 

My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss, 

I feel its impress now ; 
As in the bright and happy days 

She pressed it on my brow. 

Yon say it is a fancied thing 
Within my memory fraught ; 

'To me it has a sacred place— 
The treasure house of thought. 

Again, I feel her fingers glide 

Amid my clustering hair ; 
I see the love-light in her eyes, 

When all my life was fair. 

Again, I hear her gentle voice 

In warning or in love. 
How precious was the faith that taught 

My soul of things above. 

(1) 



MY MOTHER'S KISS. 

The music of her voice is stilled, 

Her lips are paled in death. 
As precious pearls I'll clasp her words 

Until my latest breath. 

The world has scattered round my path 
Honor and wealth and fame ; 

But naught so precious as the thoughts 
That gather round her name. 

And friends have placed ui)on my brow 

The laurels of renown ; 
But she first tauglit me how to wear 

My manhood as a crown. 

My hair is silvered o'er with age, 

I'm longing to depart ; 
To clasp again my mother's hand. 

And be a child at heart. 

To roam with her the glory-land 
Where saints and angels greet; 

To cast our crowns with songs of love 
At our Redeemer's feet. 



A GRAIN OF SAND. 3: 



A Grain of Sand. 

Do you see this grain of sand 
Lying loosely in my hand ? 
Do you know to me it brought 
Just a simple loving thought? 
When one gazes night by night 
On the glorious stars of light, 
Oh how little seems the span 
Measured round the life of man. 

Oh ! how fleeting are his years 
With their smiles and their tears 
Can it be that God does care 
For such atoms as we are ? 
Then outspake this grain of sand 
" I was fashioned by His hand 
In the star lit realms of space 
I was made to have a place. 



" Should tlie ocean flood the world, 
Were its mountains 'gainst me hurled, 
All the force they could employ 
Wouldn't a single grain destroy ; 
And if I, a thing so light, 
Have a place within His sight; 
You are linked unto his throne 
Cannot live nor die alone. 



THE CROCUSES. 

In the everlasting arms 
Mid life's dangers and alarms 
Let calm trust your spirit fill ; 
Know He's God, and then be still." 
Trustingly I raised my head 
Hearing what the atom said ; 
Knowing man is greater far 
Than the brightest sun or star. 



The Crocuses. 

They heard the South wind sighing 

A murmur of the rain ; 
And they knew that Earth was longing 

To see them all again. 

While the snow-drops still were sleeping 

Beneath the silent sod ; 
The}^ felt their new life pulsing 

Within the dark, cold clod. 

Not a daffodil nor dais}' 
Had dared to raise its head; 

Not a fairhaired dandelion 
Peeped timid from its bed; 



THE CROCUSES. 

Though a tremor of the winter 
Did shivering through them run ; 

Yet they lifted up their foreheads 
To greet the vernal sun. 

And the sunbeams gave them welcome, 

As did the morning air — 
And scattered o'er their simple robes 

Rich tints of beauty rare. 

Soon a host of lovely flowers 
From vales and woodland burst ; 

But in all that fair procession 
The crocuses were first. 

First to weave for Earth a chaplet 

To crown her dear old head ; 
And to beautify the pathway 

Where winter still did tread. 

And their loved and white haired mother 
Smiled sweetly 'neath the touch, 

When she knew her faithful children 
Were loving her so much. 



THE PRESENT AGE, 

The Present Age. 

Say not the age is hard and cold — 

I think it brave and grand ; 
When men of diverse sects and creeds- 

Are clasping hand in hand. 

The Parsee from his sacred fires 

Beside the Christian kneels ; 
And clearer light to Islam's eyes 

The word of Christ reveals. 

The Brahmin from his distant home 
Brings thoughts of ancient lore ; 

The Bhuddist breaking bonds of caste 
Divides mankind no more. 

The meek-eyed sons of far Cathay 
Are welcome round the board ; 

Not greed, nor malice drives away 
These children of our Lord. 

And Judah from whose trusted hands 

Came oracles divine ; 
Now sits with those around whose hearts- 

The light of God doth shine. 



THE PRESENT AGE. 

Japan unbars her long sealed gates 

From islands far away ; 
Her sons are lifting up their eyes 

To greet the coming day. 

The Indian child from forests wild 
Has learned to read and pray ; 

The tomahawk and scalping knife 
From him have passed away. 

JFrom centuries of servile toil 

The Negro finds release, 
And builds the fanes of prayer and praise 

Unto the God of Peace. 

England and Russia face to face 

With Central Asia meet ; 
And on the far Pacific coast, 

Chinese and natives greet. 

Crusaders once with sword and shield 

The Holy Land to save ; 
Prom Moslem hands did strive to clutch 

The dear Redeemer's grave. 

A battle greater, grander far 
Is for the present age ; 



THE PRESENT AGE. 

A crusade for the rights of man 
To brighten history's page. 

Where labor faints and bows her head, 
And want consorts with crime; 

Or men grown faithless sadly say 
That evil is the time. 

There is the field, the vantage ground 

For every earnest heart ; 
To side with justice, truth and right 

And act a noble part. 

To save from ignorance and vice 
The poorest, humblest child ; 

To make our age the fairest one 
On which the sun has smiled ; 

To plant the roots of coming years 

In mercy, love and truth ; 
And bid our weary, saddened earth 

Again renew her youth. 

Oh ! earnest hearts ! toil on in hope, 
'Till darkness shrinks from light ; 

To fill the earth with peace and joy, 
Let youth and age unite ; 



DEDICATION POEM. 9 

To stay the floods of sin and shame 
That sweep from shore to shore ; 

And furl the banners stained with blood, 
'Till war shall be no more. 

Blame not the age, nor think it full 

Of evil and unrest ; 
But say of every other age, 

" This one shall be the best." 

The age to brighten every path 

By sin and sorrow trod ; 
For loving hearts to usher in 

The commonwealth of God. 



Dedication Poem. 

Dedication Poem on the reception of the annex to 
the home for aged colored people, from the bequest of 
Mr. Edward T. Parker. 

Outcast from her home in Syria 
In the lonely, dreary wild ; 

Heavy hearted, sorrow stricken, 
Sat a mother and her child. 



10 DEDICATION POEM. 

There was not a voice to cheer her 
Not a soul to share her fate ; 

She was weary, he was fainting, — 
And life seemed so desolate. 

Far away in sunny Egypt 

Was lone Hagar's native land ; 

Where the Nile in kingly bounty 
Scatters bread with gracious hand. 

In the tents of i)rincely Abram 
She for years had found a home; 

Till the stern decree of Saraii 
Sent her forth the wild to roam. 

Hour by hour she journeyed onward 
From the shelter of their tent, 
Till her footsteps slowly faltered 
And the water all was spent; 

Then she veiled her face in sorrow, 
Feared her child would die of thirst; 

Till her eyes with tears so holden 
Saw a si)arkling fountain hurst. 

Oh ! how happy was that mother, 
What a soothing of her pain; 



DEDICATION POEM. W 

When she saw her child reviving, 
Life rejoicing through each vein 

Does not life repeat this story, 

Tell it over day by day ? 
Of the fountains of refreshment 

Ever springing by our way. 

Here is one by which we gather, 
On this bright and happy day, 

Just to bask beside a fountain 
Making gladder life's highway. 

Bringing unto hearts now aged 

Who have borne life's burdens long, 

Such a gift of love and mercy 
As deserves our sweetest song. 

Such a gift that even heaven 

May rejoice with us below, 
If the pure and holy angels 

Join us in our joy and woe. 

May the memory of the giver 

In this home where age may rest, 

Float like fragrance through the ages, 
Ever blessing, ever blest. 



12 A DOUBLE STANDARD. 

When the gates of pearl are opened 
May we there this friend behold, 

Drink with him from living fountains, 
Walk with him the streets of goLl. 

When life's shattered cords of music 
Shall again be sweeth' sung ; 

Then our hearts with life immortal. 
Shall be young, forever young. 



A Double Standard. 

Do you blame me that I loved him ? 

If when standing all alone 
I cried for bread a careless world 

Pressed to my lips a stone. 

Do you blame me that I loved him, 
That my heart beat glad and free, 

Wlien he told me in the sweetest tones 
He loved but only me ? 

Can you blame me that I did not see 

Beneath his burning kiss 
The serpent's wiles, nor even hear 

The deadly adder hiss? 



A DOUBLE STANDARD. 13 

Can you blame me that my heart grew cold 

The tempted, tempter turned ; 
When he was feted and caressed 

And I was coldly spurned ? 

Would you blame him, when you draw from 
me 

Your dainty robes aside, 
If he with gilded baits should claim 

Your fairest as his bride ? 

Would you blame the world if it should press 

On him a civic crown ; 
And see me struggling in the depth 

Then harshly press me down? 

Crime has no sex and yet to-day 

I wear the brand of shame; 
Whilst he amid the gay and proud 

Still bears an honored name. 

Can you blame me if I've learned to think 

Your hate of vice a sham, 
When you so coldly crushed me down 

And then excused the man ? 

Would you blame me if to-morrow 
The coroner should say. 



14 A DOUBLE STAND AED. 

A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn, 
Has thrown her life away ? 

Yes, blame me for my downward course, 

But oh ! remember well, 
Within your homes you press tlie hand 

That led me down to hell. 

I'm glad God's ways are not our ways. 

He does not see as man ; 
Within His love I know there's room 

For those whom others ban. 

I think before His great white throne, 
His throne of spotless light, 

That whited sepulchres shall wear 
The hue of endless niglit. 

That I who fell, and he who sinned, 
Shall reap as we have sown ; 

That each the burden of his loss 
Must bear and bear alone. 

No golden weights can turn the scale 

Of justice in His sight; 
And wdiat is wTong in woman's life 

In man's cannot be right. 



OUR HERO. 15 

Our Hero. 

Onward to her destination, 

O'er the stream the Hannah sped, 

When a cry of consternation 

Smote and chilled our hearts with dread. 

Wildly leaping, madly sweeping, 

All relentless in their sway, 
Like a band of cruel demons 

Flames were closing 'round our way 

Oh ! the horror of those moments ; 

Flames above and waves below — 
Oh ! the agony of ages 

Crowded in one hour of woe. 

Fainter grew our hearts with anguish 

In that hour with peril rife, 
When we saw the pilot flying. 

Terror-stricken, for his life. 

Then a man uprose before us — 
We had once despised his race — 

But we saw a lofty purpose 
Lighting up his darkened face. 



IQ ■ OUR HERO. 

While the flames were madly roaring, 
With a courage grand and high, 

Forth he rushed unto our rescue, 
Strong to suffer, brave to die. 

Helplessly the boat was drifting. 
Death was staring in each face, 

When he grasped the fallen rudder. 
Took the pilot's vacant place. 

Could he save us ? Would he save us? 

All his hope of life give o'er? 
Could he hold that fated vessel 

'Till she reached the nearer sliore ? 

All our hopes and fears were centered 
'Round his strong, unftdtering hand ; 

If he failed us we must perish, 
Perish just in sight of land. 

Breathlessly we watched and waited 
While the flames were raging fast ; 

When our anguish changed to rapture— 
We were saved, yes, saved at last. 

Never strains of sweetest music 
Brousfht to us more welcome sound 



THE DYING BONDMAN. 17 

Than the grating of that steamer 

When her keel had touched the ground. 

But our faithful martyr hero 

Through a fiery pathway trod, 
Till he laid his valiant spirit 

On the bosom of his God. 

Fame has never crowned a hero 

On the crimson fields of strife, 
Grander, nobler, than that pilot 

Yielding up for us his life. 



The Dying Bondman. 

Life was trembling, faintly trembling 
On the bondman's latest breath, 
And he felt the chilling pressure 
Of the cold, hard hand of Death. 

He had been an Afric chieftain, 
Worn his manhood as a crown; 
But upon the field of battle 
Had been fiercely stricken down. 



18 THE DYING BONDMAN. 

He had longed to gain his freedom, 
Waited, watched and hoped in vain, 
Till his life was slowly ebbing — 
Almost broken was his chain. 

By his bedside stood the master, 
Gazing on the dying one, 
Knowing by the dull gre}^ shadows 
That life's sands were almost run. 

" Master," said the dying bondman, 
*'Home and friends I soon sliall see; 
But before I reach my country. 
Master write that I am free ; 

" For the spirits of my fathers 
Would shrink back from me in pride. 
If I told them at our greeting 
I a slave had lived and died ; — 

" Give to me the precious token. 
That my kindred dead may see — 
Master ! write it, write it quickly ! 
Master ! write that I am free ! " 

At his earnest plea the master 
Wrote for him the glad release, 



*'A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THE3I." 19 

O'er his wan and wasted features 
Flitted one sweet smile of peace. 

Eagerly he grasped the writing ; 
*' I am free ! " at last he said. 
Backward fell upon the pillow, 
He was free among the dead. 



**A Little Child Shall Lead Them." 

Only a little scrap of blue 
Preserved with loving care, 

But earth has not a brilliant hue 
To me more bright and fair. 

Strong drink, like a raging demon, 

Laid on my heart his hand, 
When my darling joined with others 
The Loyal Legion * band. 

But mystic angels called away 
My loved and precious child, 

And o'er life's dark and stormy way 
Swept waves of anguish wild. 

*The Temperance Band, 



20 "^ LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM** 

This badge of the Loyal Legion 

We placed upon her breast, 
As she la}^ in her little coffin 

Taking her last sweet rest. 

To wear that badge as a token 

She earnestly did crave, 
So we laid it on her bosom 

To wear it in the grave. 

Where sorrow would never reach her 
Nor harsh words smite her ear; 

Nor her eyes in death dimmed slumber 
Would ever shed a tear. 

" What means this badge? " said her father^ 

Whom we had tried to save ; 
Who said, when we told her story, 

" Don't put it in the grave." 

We took the badge from her bosom 

And laid it on a chair; 
And men by drink deluded 

Knelt by that badge in prayer. 

And vowed in that hour of sorrow 
From drink they would abstain ; 



THE SPA RROW'S FA LL, 21 

And this little badge became the wedge 
Which broke their galling chain. 

And lifted the gloomy shadows 

That overspread my life, 
And flooding my home with gladness, 

Made me a happy wife. 

And this is why this scrap of blue 

Is precious in my sight : 
It changed my sad and gloomy home 

From darkness into light. 



The Sparrow's Fall. 

Too frail to soar — a feeble thing — 
It fell to earth with fluttering wing; 
But God, who watches over all, 
Beheld that little sparrow's fixll. 

'Twas not a bird with plumage gay, 
Filling the air with its morning lay; 
'Twas not an eagle bold and strong, 
Borne on the tempest's wing along. 



22 THE SPARR W *S FA LL. 

Only a brown and weesome thing, 
With drooping head and listless wingj 
It could not drift beyond His sight 
Who marshals the splendid stars of night. 

Its dying chirp fell on His ears, 
Who tunes the music of the s[)heres, 
Who hears the hungry lion's call, 
And spreads a table for us all. 

Its mission of song at last is done. 

No more will it greet the rising sun ; 

That tiny bird has found a rest 

More calm than its mother's downy breast 

Oh, restless heart, learn thou to trust 
In God, so tender, strong and just ; 
In whose love and mercy everywhere 
His humblest children have a share. 

If in love He numbers ev'ry hair, 
Whether the strands be dark or fair, 
Shall we not learn to calmly rest. 
Like children, on our Father's breast? 



GOD BLESS OUR NATIVE LAND. 23 



God Bless Our Native Land. 

God bless our native land, 
Land of the newly free, 

Oh may she ever stand 
For truth and liberty. 

God bless our native land. 

Where sleep our kindred dead, 

Let peace at thy command 
Above their graves be shed. 

God help our native land, 
Bring surcease to her strife, 

And shower from thy hand 
A more abundant life. 

God bless our native land, 

Her homes and children bless, 

Oh may she ever stand 

For truth and righteousness. 



24 DANDELIONS. 

Dandelions. 

Welcome children of the Spring, 
In your garbs of green and gold, 

Lifting up your sun-crowned heads 
On the verdant plain and wold. 

As a bright and joyous troop 

From the breast of earth ye came 

Fair and lovely are your cheeks, 
With sun-kisses all aflame. 

In the dusty streets and lanes. 

Where the lowly children play, 
There as gentle friends ye smile, 

Making brighter life's highway, 

Dewdrops and the morning sun, 

Weave your garments fair and bright, 

And we welcome you to-day 
As the children of the light. 

Children of the earth and sun. 

We are slow to understand 
All the richness of the gifts 

Flowing from our Father's hand. 



THE BUILDING. 25 

Were our vision clearer far, 

In this sin-dimmed world of ours, 

Would we not more thankful be 
For the love that sends us flowers ? 

Welcome, early visitants, 

With your sun-crowned golden hair. 
With your message to our hearts 

Of our Father's loving care. 



The Building. 

*' Build me a house," said the Master, 
" But not on the shifting sand, 
Mid the Vv^reck and roar of tempests, 
A house that will firmly stand. 

'' I will bring thee windows of agates, 
And gates of carbuncles bright, 
And thy fairest courts and portals 
Shall be filled with love and light. 

" Thou shalt build with fadeless rubies, 
All fashioned around the throne, 
A house that shall last forever, 
With Christ as the cornerstone. 
3 



26 HOME, SWEET HOME. 

" It shall be a royal mansion, 
A fair and beautiful thing, 
It will be the presence-chamber 
Of thy Saviour, Lord and King. 

"Thy house shall be bound with pinione 
To mansions of rest above, 
But grace shall forge all the fetters 
With the links and cords of love. 

" Thou shalt be free in this mansion 
From sorrow and pain of heart, 
For the peace of God shall enter, 
And never again depart." 



Home, Sweet Home. 

Sharers of a common country. 
They had met in deadly strife ; 

Men who should have been as brothers 
Madly sought each other's life. 

In the silence of the even, 

When the cannon's lips were dumb, 



HOME, SWEET HOME, 27 

Thoughts of home and all its loved ones 
To the soldier's heart would come. 

On the margin of a river, 

'Mid tlie evening's dews and damps, 
Could be heard the sounds of music 

Rising from two hostile camps. 

One was singing of its section 

Down in Dixie, Dixie's land, 
And the other of the banner 

Waved so long from strand to strand. 

In the land where Dixie's ensign 

Floated o'er the hopeful slave, 
Rose the song that freedom's banner, 

Starry-lighted, long might wave. 

From the fields of strife and carnage. 
Gentle thoughts began to roam, 

And a tender strain of music 

Rose with words of " Home, Sweet Home." 

Then the hearts of strong men melted. 

For amid our grief and sin 
Still remains that " touch of nature," 

Telling us we all are kin. 



28 THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE GOD. 

In one grand but gentle chorus, 

Floating to the starry dome, 
Came the words that brought them nearer, 

Words that told of " Home, Sweet Home." 

For awhile, all strife forgotten. 

They were only brothers then, 
Joining in the sweet old chorus, 

Not as soldiers, but as men. 

Men whose hearts would flow together, 
Though apart their feet might roam, 

Found a tie they could not sever. 
In the mem'ry of each home. 

Never may the steps of carnage 

Shake our land from shore to shore. 

But may mother, home and Heaven, 
Be our watchwords evermore. 



The Pure in Heart Shall See God. 

They shall see Him in the crimson flush 

Of morning's early light, 
In the drapery of sunset, 

Around the coucli of night. 



THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE GOD. 29 

When the clouds drop down their fatness, 

In late and early rain, 
They shall see His glorious footprints 

On valley, hill and plain. 

They shall see Him when the cyclone 
Breathes terror through the land ; 

They shall see Him 'mid the murmurs 
Of zephyrs soft and bland. 

They shall see Him when the lips of health, 
Breath vigor through each nerve, 

When pestilence clasps hands with death. 
His purposes to serve. 

They shall see Him when the trembling earth 

Is rocking to and fro ; 
They shall see Him in the order 

The seasons come and go. 

They shall see Him when the storms of war 
Sweep wildly through the land ; 

When peace descends like gentle dew 
They still shall see His hand. 

They shall see Him in the city 
Of gems and pearls of light, 



30 NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD. 

They shall see Him in his beauty, 
And walk with Him in white. 

To living founts their feet shall tend, 
And Christ shall be their guide, 

Beloved of God, their rest shall be 
In safety by His side. 



He " Had Not Where to Lay His Head." 

The conies had their hiding-place, 
The wily fox with stealthy tread 

A covert found, but Christ, the Lord, 
Had not a place to lay his head. 

The eagle had an eyrie home, 

The blithesome bird its quiet rest, 

But not the humblest spot on earth 
Was by the Son of God possessed. 

Princes and kings had palaces, 

With grandeur could adorn each tomb, 

For Him who came with love and life. 
They had no home, they gave no room. 



GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD, 31 

The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy 
Through nerves unstrung and palsied 
frame, 

The feet that travelled for our need, 
Were nailed unto the cross of shame. 

How dare I murmur at my lot, 
Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss, 

When Christ was in a manger laid. 
And died in anguish on the cross. 

That homeless one beheld beyond 

His lonely agonizing pain, 
A love outflowing from His heart. 

That all the wandering world would gain. 



Go Work in My Vineyard. 

Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord, 
And gather the bruised grain ; 

But the reapers had left the stubble bare, 
And I trod the soil in pain. 



32 GO WORK IN 31 Y VINEYARD. 

The fields of my Lord are wide and broad, 
He has pastures fair and green, 

And vineyards that drink the golden light 
Which flows from the sun's bright sheen. 

I heard the joy of the reapers' song, 
As they gathered golden grain ; 

Then wearily turned unto my task, 
With a lonely sense of pain. 

Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare. 

And sought the quiet shade, 
And over my dim and weary eyes 

Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed. 

I dreamed I joined with a restless throng, 

Eager for pleasure and gain ; 
But ever and anon a stumbler fell, 

And uttered a cry of pain. 

But the eager crowd still hurried on, 

Too busy to pause or heed, 
When a voice rang sadly through my soul, 

You must staunch these wounds that bleed. 

My hands were weak, but I reached them out 
To feebler ones than mine. 



RENEWAL OF STRENGTH. 33 

And over the shadows of my life 
Stole the light of a peace divine. 

Oh ! then my task was a sacred thing, 
How precious it grew in my eyes ! 

'Twas mine to gather the bruised grain 
For the " Lord of Paradise." 

And when the reapers shall lay their grain 

On the floors of golden light, 
I feel that mine with its broken sheaves 

Shall be precious in His sight. 

Though thorns may often pierce my feet, 

And the shadows still abide, 
The mists will vanish before His smile, 

There will be light at eventide. 



Renewal of Strength. 

The prison-house in which I live 

Is falling to decay. 
But God renews my spirit's strength. 

Within these walls of clay. 



34 JAMIE'S PUZZLE. 

For me a dimness slowl}^ creeps 
Around earth's fairest light, 

But heaven grows clearer to my view, 
And fairer to my sight. 

It may be earth's sweet harmonies 

Are duller to my ear, 
But music from my Father's house 

Begins to float more near. 

Then let the pillars of my home 

Crumble and fall away ; 
Lo, God's dear love within my soul 

Renews it day by day. 



Jamie's Puzzle. 

There was grief within our household 

Because of a vacant chair. 
Our mother, so loved and precious, 

No longer was sitting there. 



JAMIE'S PUZZLE. 35 

Our hearts grew heavy with sorrow, 
Our eyes with tears were blind, 

And little Jamie was wondering, 
Why we were left behind. 

We had told our little darling, 

Of the land of love and light, 
Of the saints all crowned with glory, 

And enrobed in spotless white. 

We said that our precious mother. 
Had gone to that land so fair, 

To dwell with beautiful angels, 
And to be forever there. 

But the child was sorely puzzled, 
Why dear grandmamma should go 

To dwell in a stranger city, 

When her children loved her so. 

But again the mystic angel 

Came with swift and silent tread, 

And our sister, Jamie's mother. 
Was enrolled among the dead. 

To us the mystery deepened, 
To Jamie it seemed more clear ; 



36 TRUTH. 

Grandma, he said, must be lonesome, 
And mamma has gone to her. 

But the question Ues unanswered 
In our httle Jamie's mind, 

Why she should go to our mother, 
And leave her children behind ; 

To dwell in that lovely city, 
From all that was dear to part. 

From children who loved to nestle 
So closely around her heart. 

Dear child, like you, we are puzzled, 
With problems that still remain ; 

But think in the great hereafter 
Their meaning will all be plain. 



Truth. 



A rock, for ages, stern and high, 
Stood frowning 'gainst the earth and sky, 
And never bowed his haughty crest 
When angry storms around him prest. 
Morn, springing from the arms of night, 
Had often bathed his brow with light, 



TRUTH. 37 

And kissed the shadows from his face 
With tender love and gentle grace. 

Day, pausing at the gates of rest, 
Smiled on him from the distant West, 
And from her throne the dark-browed Night 
Threw round his path her softest light. 
And yet he stood unmoved and proud, 
Nor love, nor wrath, his spirit bowed ; 
He bared his brow to every blast 
And scorned the tempest as it passed. 

One day a tiny, humble seed — 

The keenest eye would hardly heed — 

Fell trembling at that stern rock's base, 

And found a lowly hiding-place. 

A ray of light, and drop of dew, 

Came with a message, kind and true; 

They told her of the world so bright, 

Its love, its joy, and rosy light, 

And lured her from her hiding-place, 

To gaze upon earth's glorious face. 

So, peeping timid from the ground. 
She clasped the ancient rock around, 
And climbing up with childisli grace. 
She held him with a close embrace; 



38 DEATH OF THE OLD SEA KING. 

Her clinging was a thing of dread ; 

Where'er she touched a fissure spread, 

And he who'd breasted many a storm 

Stood frowning there, a mangled form ; 

A Truth, dropped in the silent earth, 

May seem a thing of little wortli, 

Till, spreading round some mighty wrong, 

It saps its pillars proud and strong, 

And o'er the fallen ruin weaves 

The brightest blooms and fairest leaves. 



Death of The Old Sea King. 

'Twas a fearful night — the tempest raved 

With loud and wrathful pride, 
The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds, 

And rode on the raging tide. 

The sea-king lay on his bed of death, 
Pale mourners around him bent ; 

They knew the wild and fitful life 
Of their chief was almost spent. 

His ear was growing dull in death 
Wlien the angry storm he heard, 



DEATH OF THE OLD SEA KING. 39 

The sluggish blood in the old man's veins 
With sudden vigor stirred. 

" I hear them call," cried the dying man, 

His eyes grew full of light ; 
" Now bring me here my warrior robes, 

My sword and armor bright. 

" In the tempest's lull I heard a voice, 

I knew 'twas Odin's call. 
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed 

To lead me unto his hall. 

" Bear me unto my noblest ship, 

Light up a funeral pyre ; 
I'll walk to the palace of the braves 

Through a path of flame and fire." 

Oh ! wild and bright was the stormy light 
That flashed from the old man's eye, 

As they bore him from the couch of death 
To his battle-ship to die. 

And lit with many a mournful torch 

The sea-king's dying bed, 
And like a banner fair and bright 

The flames around him spread. 



40 SAVE THE BOYS. 

But they heard no cry of anguish 
Break through that fiery wall, 

With rigid brow and silent lips 
He was seeking Odin's hall. 

Through a path of fearful splendor, 
While strongmen held their breath, 

The brave old man went boldly forth 
And calmly talked with death. 



Save the Boys. 

Like Dives in the deeps of Hell 

I cannot break this fearful spell, 

Nor quench the fires I've madly nursed, 

Nor cool this dreadful raging thirst. 

Take back your pledge — ye come too late! 

Ye cannot save me from my fate, 

Nor bring me back departed joys ; 

But ye can try to save the boys. 

Ye bid me break my fiery chain, 
Arise and be a man again, 



SAVE THE BOYS. 41 

When every street with snares is spread, 
And nets of sin where'er I tread. 
No ; I must reap as I did sow. 
The seeds of sin bring crops of woe ; 
But with my latest breath I'll crave 
That ye will try the boys to save. 

These bloodshot eyes were once so bright ; 

This sin-crushed heart was glad and light; 

But by the wine-cup's ruddy glow 

I traced a path to shame and woe. 

A captive to my galling chain, 

I've tried to rise, but tried in vain — 

The cup allures and then destroys. 

Oh ! from its thraldom save the boys. 

Take from your streets those traps of hell 
Into whose gilded snares I fell. 
Oh ! freemen, from these foul decoys 
Arise, and vote to save the boys. 
Oh, ye who license men to trade 
In draughts that charm and then degrade, 
Before ye hear the cry, Too late, 
Oh, save the boys from my sad fate. 
4 



42 NOTHING AND SOMETHING. 



Nothing and Something. 

It is nothing to me, the beauty said, 

With a careless toss of her pretty head ; 

The man is weak if he can't refrain 

From the cup yon say is fraught with pain. 

It was something to her in after years. 

When her eyes were drenched with burning 

tears, 
And she watched in lonely grief and dread, 
And startled to hear a staggering tread. 

It is nothing to me, the mother said ; 
I have no fear that my boy will tread 
In the downward path of sin and shame. 
And crush my heart and darken his name. 
It was something to her when that only son 
From the path of right was early won, 
And madly cast in the flowing bowl 
A ruined body and sin -wrecked soul. 

It is nothing to me, the young man cried : 
In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride \ 
I heed not the dreadful things 3^e tell : 
I can rule myself I know full well. 



NOTHING AND SOMETHING. 43 

It was something to him when in prison he lay 
The victim of drink, life ebbing away ; 
And thought of his wretched child and wife, 
And the mournful wreck of his wasted life. 

It is nothing to me, the merchant said, 

As over his ledger he bent his head ; 

I'm busy to-day with tare and tret. 

And I have no time to fume and fret. 

It was something to him when over, the wire 

A message came from a funeral pyre — 

A drunken conductor had wrecked a train, 

And his wife and child were among the slain. 

It is nothing to me, the voter said, 
The party's loss is my greatest dread ; 
Then gave his vote for the liquor trade, 
Though hearts were crushed and drunkards 

made. 
It was something to him in after life, 
When his daughter became a drunkard's wife 
And her hungry children cried for bread. 
And trembled to hear their father's tread. 

Is it nothing for us to idly sleep 
While the cohorts of death their vigils keep? 
To gather the yoTing and thoughtless in, 
And grind in our midst a grist of sin ? 



44 VASHTL 

It is something, yes, all, for us to stand 
Clasping by faith our Saviour's hand ; 
To learn to labor, live and fight 
On the side of God and changeless light. 



Vashti. 



She leaned her head upon her hand 
And heard the King's decree — 

" My lords are feasting in my halls ; 
Bid Vashti come to me. 

'' I've shown the treasures of my house, 

My costly jewels rare, 
But with the glory of her eyes 

No rubies can compare. 

*' Adorn 'd and crown'd I'd have her come, 

With all her queenly grace, 
And, 'mid my lords and mighty men, 

Unveil her lovely face. 

" Each gem that sparkles in my crown, 
Or glitters on my throne, 



VASHTI. 45 

Grows poor and pale when she appears, 
My beautiful, my own ! " 

All waiting stood the chamberlains 

To hear the Queen's reply. 
They saw her cheek grow deathly pale, 

But light flash'd to her eye : 

" Go, tell the King," she proudly said, 

" That I am Persia's Queen, 
And by his crowds of merry men 

I never will be seen. 

" I'll take the crown from off my head 

And tread it 'neath my feet. 
Before their riide and careless gaze 

My shrinking eyes shall meet. 

" A queen unveil'd before the crowd I — 

Upon each lip my name ! — 
Why, Persia's women all would blush 

And weep for Vashti's shame ! 

" Go back 1 " she cried, and waved her hand, 

And grief was in her eye : 
" Go, tell the King," she sadly said, 

" That I would rather die." 



46 VASHTI. 

They brought her message to the King; 

Dark flash'd his angry 63^6; 
'Twas as the lightning ere the storm 

Hath swept in fury by. 

Then bitterly outspoke the King, 
Through purple lips of wrath — 

"What shall be done to her who dares 
To cross your monarch's path ? " 

Then spake his wily counsellors — 

"0 King of this fair land ! 
From distant Ind to Ethiop, 

All bow to thy command. 

" But if, before thy servants' eyes. 

This thing they plainly see, 
That Vashti doth not heed thy will 

Nor yield herself to thee, 

*iThe women, restive 'neath our rule, 
Would learn to scorn our name. 

And from her deed to us would come 
Reproach and burning shame. 

" Then, gracious King, sign with thy hand 
This stern but just decree, 



THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 47 

That Vashti lay aside her crown, 
Thy Queen no more to be." 

She heard again the King's command, 

And left her high estate ; 
Strong in her earnest womanhood, 

She calmly met her fate, 

And left the palace of the King, 

Proud of her spotless name — 
A woman who could bend to grief, 

But would not bow to shame. 



Thank God for Little Children. 

Thank God for little children, 

Bright flowers by earth's wayside, 

The dancing, joyous lifeboats 
Upon life's stormy tide. 

Thank God for little children ; 

When our skies are cold and gray, 
They come as sunshine to our hearts, 

And charm our cares away. 



48 THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILBEEN. 

I almost think the angels, 
Who tend life's garden fair, 

Drop down the sweet wild blossoms 
That bloom around us here. 

It seems a breath of heaven 
Round many a cradle lies, 

And every little baby 

Brings a message from the skies. 

Dear mothers, guard these jewels. 

As sacred offerings meet, 
A w^ealth of household treasures 

To lay at Jesus' feet. 



The Martyr of Alabama. 



" Tim Thompson, a little negro bo}^ was asked 
to dance for the amusement of some white 
toughs. He refused, saying he was a church 
member. One of the men knocked him 
down with a club and then danced upon his 
prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the 
hip. The boy is dead ; his murderer is still at 
large." — News Item. 

He lifted up his pleading eyes, 

And scanned each cruel face, 
Where cold and brutal cowardice 

Had left its evil trace. 

It was when tender memories 
Round Beth'lem's manger lay, 

(40) 



50 THE 3IARTYR OF ALABAMA. 

And motliers told their little ones 
Of Jesu's natal day. 

And of the Magi from the East 
Who came their gifts to bring, 

And bow in rev'rence at the feet 
Of Salem's new-born King. 

And how the herald angels sang 

The choral song of peace, 
That war should close his wrathful lips, 

And strife and carnage cease. 

At such an hour men well may hush 
Their discord and their strife, 

And o'er that manger clasp their hands 
With gifts to brighten life. 

Alas ! that in our favored land, 

That cruelty and crime 
Should cast their shadows o'er a day, 

The fairest pearl of time. 

A dark-browed boy had drawn anear 

A band of savage men. 
Just as a hapless lamb might stray 

Into a tiger's den. 



THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA. 5I 

Cruel and dull, they saw in him 

For sport an evil chance, 
And then demanded of the child 

To give to them a dance. 

" Come dance for us," the rough men said ; 

" I can't," the child replied, 
" I cannot for the dear Lord's sake, 

Who for my sins once died." 

Tho' they were strong and he was weak, 

He wouldn't his Lord deny. 
His life lay in their cruel hands, 

But he for Christ could die. 

Heard they aright? Did that hrave child 

Their mandates dare resist? 
Did he against their stern commands 

Have courage to insist? 

Then recklessly a man (?) arose, 

And dealt a fearful hlow. 
He crushed the portals of that life, 

And laid the brave child low. 

And trampled on his prostrate form, 
As on a broken toy ; 



52 THE MARTYR OF ALABA3TA. 

Then danced with careless, brutal feet, 
Upon the murdered boy. 

Christians! behold that martyred child I 
His blood cries from the ground ; 

Before the sleepless eye of God, 
He shows each gaping wound. 

Oh! Churcli of Christ arise! arise! 

r.est crimson stain thy liand, 
When God shall inquisition make 

For blood shed in the land. 

Tiike sackcloth of the darkest hue, 
And shroud the pulpits round ; 

Servants of him who cannot lie 
Sit mourning on tlie ground. 

Let lioly liorror i)lanc]i each brow, 
Pale every clieek witl) iears, 

And rocks and stones, if 3^e could speak, 
Ye well might melt to tears. 

Througli every fane send forth a cry, 

Of sorrow and regret. 
Nor in an hour of careless ease 

Thy brother's wrongs forget. 



THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 5^ 

Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips, 

Nor speak with bated breath ; 
This evil shall not always last,— 

The end of it is death. 

Avert the doom that crime must bring 

Upon a guilty land ; 
Strong in the strength that God supplies, 

For truth and justice stand. 

For Christless men, with reckless hands, 

Are sowing round thy path 
The tempests wild that yet shall break 

In whirlwinds of God's wrath. 



The Night of Death. 

Twas a night of dreadful horror,— 
Death was sweeping through the land ; 

And the wings of dark destruction 

Were outstretched from strand to strand. 

Strong men's hearts grew faint with terror, 
As the tempest and the waves 



54 THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 

Wrecked their homes and swept them down- 
ward, 
Suddenly to yawning graves. 

'Mid the wastes of ruined households, 
And the tempest's wild alarms, 

Stood a terror-stricken mother 
With a child within her arms. 

Otlier children liuddled 'round her, 
Each one nestling in her heart; 

Swift in thought and swift in action, 
She at least from one must part. 

Then she said unto her daughter, 

" Strive to save one child from death." 

" Which one ? " said the anxious daughter, 
As she stood with hated hreath. 

Oh ! the anguish of that mother; 

What despair was in her eye ! 
All her little ones were precious ; 

Which one should she leave to die? 

Then outspake the brother Bennie : 

" I will take the little one." 
^' No," exclaimed the anxious mother ; 

" No, my child, it can't be done." 



THE NIGHT OF DEA TH. 55 

"See! my boy, the waves are rising, 
Save yourself and leave the child ! " 

" I will trust in Christ," he answered ; 
Grasped the little one and smiled. 

Through the roar of wind and waters ^ 

Ever and anon she cried ; 
But throughout the night of terror 

Never Bennie's voice replied. 

But above the waves' wild surging 

He had found a safe retreat, 
As if God had sent an angel. 

Just to guide his wandering feet. 

When the storm had spent its fury, 

And the sea gave up its dead, 
She was mourning for her loved ones, 

Lost amid that night of dread. 

While her head was bowed in anguish, 

On her ear there fell a voice, 
Bringing surcease to her sorrow. 

Bidding all her heart rejoice. 

" Didn't I tell you true? " said Bennie, 
And his eyes were full of light, 



56 ^lOTHER'S TREASURES. 

" When I told you God would help me 
Through the dark and dreadful night? " 

And he placed the little darling 
Safe within his mother's arms. 

Feeling Christ had heen his guardian, 
'Atid the dangers and alarms. 

Oil ! for fnith so firm and precious, 

In the darkest, saddest night, 
Till life's gloom-encircled shadows 

Fade in everlasting light. 

And upon the mount of vision 
Wq our loved and lost shall greet, 

Witli earth's wildest storms hehind us, 
And its cares beneath our feet. 



Mother's Treasures. 

Two little children sit by my side, 
I call them Lily and Daffodil; 

I gaze on them with a mother's pride, 
One is Edna, the other is WilL 

Both have eyes of starry light, 

And laughing lips o'er teeth of pearl. 



MOTHER'S TREASURES. 57 

I would not change for a diadem 
My noble boy and darling girl. 

To-night my heart o'erfiows with joy ; 

I hold them as a sacred trust ; 
I fain would hide them in my heart, 

Safe from tarnish of moth and rust. 

AVhat should I ask for my dear boy ? 

The richest gifts of wealth or fame? 
AVhat for my girl? A loving heart 

And a fair and a spotless name? 

What for my boy ? That he should stand 
A pillar of strength to the state? 

AVhat for my girl ? That she should be 
The friend of the poor and desolate? 

I do not ask they shall never tread 
With weary feet the paths of pain. 

I ask that in the darkest hour 

They may faithful and true remain. 

I only ask their lives may be 

Pure as gems in the gates of pearl, 

Lives to brighten and l)less the world — 
This I ask for my boy and girl. 
5 



58 THE REFINER'S GOLD. 

I ask to clasp their hands again 
'Mid the holy hosts of heaven, 

Enraptured say : " I am here, oh ! God, 
"And the children Thou hast given." 



The Refiner's Gold. 
He stood before my heart's closed door, 

And asked to enter in ; 
But I had barred the passage o'er 

By unbelief and sin. 

He came with nail-prints in his hands, 

To set my sj^rit free ; 
With wounded feet he trod a path 

To come and sup with me. 

He found me poor and brought me gold. 

The fire of love had tried, 
And garments whitened by his blood, 

M}^ wretchedness to hide. 

The glare of life liad dimmed my eyes, 

Its glamour was too bright. 
He came with ointment in his hands 

To heal mv darkened siaht. 



THE REFINER'S GOLD. 59 

He knew my lieart was tempest-tossed, 

By care and pain oppressed ; 
He whispered to my burdened heart, 

Come unto me and rest. 

He found me weary, faint and worn, 

On barren mountains cold ; 
With love's constraint he drew me on. 

To shelter in his fold. 

Oh ! foolish heart, how slow wert thou 

To welcome thy dear guest, 
To change thy weariness and care 

For comfort, peace and rest. 

Close to his side, oh ! may I stay, 

Just to behold his face, 
Till I shall wear within my soul 

The image of his grace. 

The grace that changes hearts of stone 

To tenderness and love, 
And bids us run with willing feet 

Unto his courts above. 



60 A STORY OF THE REBELLION. 

A Story of the Rkbelliox. 

The treacherous sands had cauglit our boat, 
And held it with a strong embrace • 

And death at our imprisoned crew 
Was sternl}' looking face to face. 

Witli anxious hearts, but failing strength, 
We strove to push the boat from shore; 

But all in vain, for there we lay 
With bated breath and useless oar. 

Around us in a fearful storm 

Tlie fiery hail fell thick and fast; 

And we engirded by tlie sand, 

Could not return the dreadful blast. 

When one nr(^se upon whose brow 
The ardent sun had left his trace; 

A noble purpose strong and high 
Upligliting all his dusky face. 

Perciiance within that fateful hour 
The wrongs of ages thronged apace ; 

But with it came the glorious hope 
Of swift deliverance to his race. 

Of galling chains asunder rent, 

Of severed hearts again made one, 



A STORY OF THE REBELLION. 6i 

Of freedom crowning all the land 

Through battles gained and victories won. 

*' Some one," our hero firmly said, 
" Must die to get us out of this ; " 

Then leaped upon the strand and bared 
His bosom to the bullets' hiss. 

" But ye are soldiers, and can fight, 
May win in battles yet unfought; 

I have no offering but my life, 
And if they kill me it is nought." 

With steady hands he grasped the boat, 
And boldly pushed it from the shore ; 

Then fell by rebel bullets pierced. 
His life work grandly, nobly o'er. 

Our boat was rescued from the sands 
And launched in safety on the tide ; 

But he our comrade good and grand, 
In our defence had bravely died. 



Burial of Sarah. 

He stood before the sons of Heth, 
And bowed his sorrowing head ; 



Q2 BURIAL OF SARAH. 

" I've come," he said, " to buy a place 
Where I may lay my dead. 

" I am a stranger in your land, 
My home has lost its light ; 

Grant me a place where I may lay 
My dead away from sight.'' 

Then tenderly the sons of Heth 
Gazed on the mourner's face, 

And said, " Oh, Prince, amid our dead, 
Choose thou her resting-place. 

"The sepulchres of those we love, 
We place at thy command ; 

Against the plea thy grief hath made 
We close not heart nor hand." 

The patriarch rose and bowed his head^ 
And said, " One place I crave ; 

'Tis at the end of Ephron's field, 
And called Machpelah's cave. 

" Entreat him that he sell to me 
For her last sleep that cave; 

I do not ask for her I loved 
The freedom of a grave." 



BURIAL OF SARAH. 63 

The son of Zohar answered him, 

" Hearken, my lord, to me ; 
Before our sons, the field and cave 

I freely give to thee." 

'' I will not take it as a gift," 

The grand old man then said ; 
" I pray thee let me buy the place 

Where I may lay my dead." 

And with the promise in his heart, 

His seed should own that land, 
He gave the shekels for the field 

He took from Ephron's hand. 

And saw afar the glorious day 

His chosen seed should tread, 
The soil wliere he in sorrow lay 

His loved and cherished dead. 



Going East. 

She came from the East a fair, young bride, 
With a light and a bounding heart. 

To find in the distant West a home 
With her husband to make a start. 



G4 GOING EAST. 

He builded his cabin far away, 

Where the prairie flower bloomed wild; 

Her love made ligliter all his toil, 

And joy and hope around him smiled. 

She plied her hands to life's homely tasks. 
And helped to build his fortunes up ; 

While joy and grief, like bitter and sweet, 
Were mingled and mixed in her cup. 

He sowed in his fields of golden grain. 
All the strength of his manly prime ; 

Nor music of birds, nor brooks, nor bees. 
Was as sw'eet as the dollar's chime. 

She toiled and waited through wear}- years 
For the fortune that came at length; 

But toil and care and hope deferred, 
Had stolen and wasted her strength. 

The cabin changed to a stately home, 
Rich carpets were hushing her tread ; 

But light was fading from her eye, 

And the bloom from her ciieek had fled. 

Slower and heavier grew her step, 

While his gold and his gains increased ; 



Goiya EAST. (j5 

Bat his proud domain bad r.ot the cluirm 
Of her humble home in the East. 

Within lier eye was a restless light, 
And a yearning that never ceased, 

A longing to see the dear old home 
She had left in the distant East. 

A longing to clasp her mother's hand, 

And nestle close to her heart, 
And to feel the heavy cares of life 

Like the sun-kissed shadows depart. 

Her husband was adding field to field, 
And new wealth to his golden store ; 

And little thought the shadow of death 
Was entering in at his door. 

He had no line to sound the depths 
Of her tears repressed and unshed ; 

Nor dreamed 'mid plenty a human lieart 
Could be starving, but not for bread. 

The hungry heart was stilled at last; 

Its restless, baffled yearning ceased. 
A lonely man sat by the bier 

Of a corpse that was going East. 



66 THE HFRJflT'S SACRIFICE. 

The Hermit's Sacrifice. 

From Rome's palaces and villas 
Gaily issued forth a tlirong- ; 

From her humbler habitations 
Moved a human tide along. 

Haughty dames and blooming maidens, 
Men who knew not mercy's swny. 

Thronged into the Coliseum 
On that Roman holiday. 

From the lonely wilds of Asia, 

From her jungles far away, 
From the distant torrid regions, 

Rome had gathered beasts of prey. 

Lions restless, roaring, rampant, 
Tigers with their stealthy tread, 

Leopards bright, and fierce, and fiery, 
Met in conflict wild and dread. 

Fierce and fearful was the carnage 
Of the maddened beasts of prey. 

As they fought and rent each other 
Urged by men more fierce than they. 

Till like muffled thunders breaking 
On a vast and distant shore, 



THE HERMITS S ACE IF WE. 67 

Fainter grew the yells of tigers, 
And the lions' dreadful roar. 

On the crimson-stained arena 

Lay the victims of the fight; 
Eyes which once had glared with angui&L- 

Lost in death their baleful light. 

Then uprose the gladiators 

Armed for conflict unto death, 
Waiting for the prefect's signal, 

Cold and stern with bated breath. 

"Ave Caesar, morituri, 

Te, salutant," rose the cry 
From the lips of men ill-fated, 

Doomed to suffer and to die. 

Then began the dreadful contest, 
Lives like chaff were thrown away, 

Rome with all her pride and power 
Butchered for a holiday. 

Eagerly the crowd were waiting, 

Loud the clashing sabres rangv 
When between the gladiators 

All unarmed a hermit sprang. 



G8 THE HERMIT'S SACRIFICE. 

"Cease your bloodshed," cried the hermit, 
" On this carnage place \'our ban ;" 

But with flashing swords tliey answered, 
" Back unto your place, old man." 

From their path the gladiators 
Thrust the strange intruder back. 

Who between their hosts advancing 
Calmly parried their attack. 

All undaunted by their weapons. 

Stood the old heroic man ; 
While a maddened cry of anger 

Through the vast assembly ran. 

" Down with him," cried out the people. 
As with thumbs unbent they glared. 

Till the prefect gave the signal 
That his life should not be spared. 

Men grew wild with wrathful passion. 
When his fearless words were said * 

Cruelly they fiercely showered 
Stones on his devoted head. 

Bruised and bleeding fell the hermit, 
Victor in that hour of strife ; 



SONGS FOE THE PEOPLE. m 

Gaining in his death a triumph 
That he could not win in life. 

Had he uttered on the forum 

StruggUng thoughts within him born, 

Men had jeered his words as madness, 
But his deed they could not scorn. 

Not in vain had been his courage, 
Nor for naught his daring deed ; 

From his grave his mangled body 
Did for wretched captives plead. 

From that hour Rome, grown more thoughtful, 
Ceased her sport in human gore; 

And into her Coliseum 
Gladiators came no more. 



Songs for the People. 

Let me make the songs for the people, 
Songs for the old and young ; 

Songs to stir like a battle-cry 
Wherever they are sung. 

Not for the clashing of sabres, 
For carnage nor for strife ; 



70 SONGS FOR THE PEOPLE. 

But songs to thrill the hearts of men 
With more abundant life. 

Let me make the songs for the weary, 
Amid life's fever and fi-et, 

Till hearts shall relax their tt-nsion, 
And careworn brows forget. 

Let me sing for little children, 
Before their footsteps stray, 

Sweet anthems of love and duty, 
To float o'er life's highway. 

I would sing for the poor and aged, 
When shadows dim their sight ; 

Of the bright and restful mansions, 
Where there shall be no night. 

Our world, so worn and weary, 
Needs music, pure and strong, 

To hush the jangle and discords 
Of sorrow, pain, and wrong. 

Music to soothe all its sorrow. 
Till war and crime shall cease ; 

And the hearts of men growni tendei 
Girdle the world with peace. 



LET THE LIGHT ENTER. 71 

Let the Light Enter. 

The dying words of Goethe. 

" Light ! more light ! the shadows deepen, 
And my life is ebbing low, 
Throw the windows widely open : 
Light! more light! before I go. 

" Softly let the balmy sunshine 
Play around my dying bed, 
E'er the dimly lighted valley 
I with lonely feet must tread. 

" Light ! more light ! for Death is weaving 
Shadows 'round my waning sight, 
And I fain would gaze upon him 
Through a stream of earthly light." 

Not for greater gifts of genius ; 

Not for thoughts more grandly bright. 
All the dying poet whispers 

Is a prayer for light, more light. 

Heeds he not the gathered laurels, 
Fading slowly from his sight ; 

All the poet's aspirations 

Centre in that prayer for light. 



72 AN APPEAL TO MY COUNTRYWOMEN. 

Gracious Saviour, when life's day-dreams 
Melt and vanish from the sight, 

May our dim and longing vision 

Then be blessed with light, more light. 



An Appeal to My Countrywomen. 

You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian 
Who weeps in her desolate home. 

You can mourn o'er the exile of Russia 
From kindred and friends doomed to roam. 

You can pity the men who have woven 
From passion and appetite chains 

To coil with a terrible tension 

Around their heartstrings and brains. 

You can sorrow o'er little children 

Disinherited from their birth, 
The wee waifs and toddlers neglected, 

Robbed of sunshine, music and mirth. 

For beasts you have gentle compassion; 

Your mercy and pity they share. 
For the wretched, outcast and fallen 

You have tenderness, love and care. 



AN APPEAL TO MT COUNTRYWOMEN. 73 

But bark ! from our Southland are floating 
Sobs of anguish, murmurs of pain, 

And women heart-stricken are weeping 
Over their tortured and their slain. 

On their brows the sun has left traces; 

Shrink not from their sorrow in scorn. 
When they entered the threshold of being 

The children of a King were born. 

Each comes as a guest to the table 
The hand of our God has outspread, 

To fountains that ever leap upward, 
To share in the soil we all tread. 

When ye plead for the wrecked and fallen, 
The exile from far-distant shores, 

Remember that men are still wasting 
Life's crimson around your own doors. 

Have ye not, oh, my favored sisters, 

Just a plea, a prayer or a tear. 
For mothers who dwell 'neath the shadows 

Of agony, hatred and fear? 

Men may tread down the poor and lowly. 
May crush them in anger and hate, 



74 ^^ APPEAL TO MY COUNTRY\yOMEN, 

But surely the mills of God's justice 
Will grind out the grist of their fate. 

Oh, people sin-laden and guilty, 
So lusty and proud in your prime, 

The sharp sickles of God's retribution 
Will gather your harvest of crime. 

Weep not, oh my well-sheltered sisters. 

Weep not for the Negro alone, 
But weep for your sons who must gather 

The crops which their fathers have sown. 

Go read on the tombstones of nations 
Of chieftains who masterful trod, 

The sentence which time has engraven, 
That they had forgotten their God. 

'Tis the judgment of God that men reap 
The tares which in madness they sow, 

Sorrow follows the footsteps of crime, 
And Sin is the consort of Woe. 

Frances E. W. Harper* 



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